Jarod's Heart (King Brothers Stories #2) (7 page)

JAROD LOOKED OVER
Eli’s arrest report and grimaced. The teen’s family ran in the same social circles as his own parents, Derek Lawlor having made his fortune in mining. Most of the mines had closed down, but Derek still had a few that were producing. He didn’t know them very well, but Jarod didn’t believe them to be bad people.

Of course, Jarod didn’t consider himself a bad person, either, but Miranda had still gotten herself involved in the drug world, just like Aiden Lawlor. The lingering question of why she’d done it sometimes kept Jarod awake at night.

The drug culture had rapidly spread in the five years since she had left. All his investigations had led to nowhere. His informants had either clammed up or disappeared altogether. Just when he had thought he’d made some headway, the trail had run cold or led straight to a dead end. It was almost like they had known his next move before he did.

There was a perfunctory knock on Jarod’s open door before Brad stepped into his office. “Heard about Eli’s bust. Can’t believe that any kid of Derek Lawlor’s would be involved with selling meth. And where the hell is he getting it?”

Jarod leaned back in his chair and gestured to one of the two padded chairs in front of his desk. Brad acknowledged the invitation to sit with a nod.

“Yeah, Aiden is a rich, sixteen-year-old little snot, whose parents are parishioners of the same church as my family.” Jarod rolled his eyes.

“Do you know the kid?”

“Not personally, no. But Dad worked with Derek to remodel his mining office, and I’ve heard rumblings about a hotel remodel. I’m not sure if their relationship extends beyond business.”

Jarod tapped his pen on the desk in an agitated fashion before he admitted, “I’m desperate enough to use my parents’ connection to help persuade the Lawlors to allow Aiden to be interviewed, with their lawyer present, of course. Or at least to point out the benefits of him cooperating with us.”

Brad nodded as if he agreed, but said nothing.

Jarod was disgusted with the circumstances, but he needed answers. He gave Brad an assessing look and asked, “What do you know about the kid?”

Brad shook his head. “Nothing, only the family name, pretty prominent, like you said, and I don’t recall Aiden ever being in trouble before.” He shrugged. “You sure you want to involve your parents in this case?”

“Hell, I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Jarod sighed. “I’m hoping someone will get overconfident and sloppy, and that’s how we’ll get these bastards.”

Brad stood up. “Agreed.” He turned and said, “I’m heading out on patrol. I’ll make a few passes by the high school to see what’s shaking.”

“Good idea. Keep me in the loop,” Jarod said, unnecessarily. He knew Brad would inform him of everything. From the beginning, Brad had been as frustrated as the rest of them, taking it as personally as he did.

As Jarod’s gaze followed Brad into the main office, his eyes landed on Lauren, who was busy at her desk. Her pretty red dress was modest and professional. Her blonde hair hung down her back in soft, shiny loops. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew they were a soft, clear blue and surrounded by long, thick lashes that she darkened with mascara. Though she wore makeup at work, he knew that their natural color was a shade or two darker than her hair because she’d spent many summers with his family at the lake, camping out, bare-faced and carefree. She enjoyed the outdoors as much as he did.

And then it dawned on him, not in an epiphany sort of way, but more like a punch to the gut: Lauren Lockwood was an extremely beautiful woman.

A rough breath soughed out of his lungs, as if he’d just shot rotgut from a dirty glass in a cheap bar. Of course, he’d always known she was pretty, and there’d always been some subliminal attraction that he had known was mostly coming from her (not from him because he had loved his wife), but the realization of this new attraction felt as though a switch had been flipped in his head, and there was no way to turn it back off again.

Unbidden and unwelcome, the memory of the kiss he’d forced upon her last month came to mind and tightened every muscle in his body.

Damn it.
Maybe he needed to take a trip into the next county and take care of some personal business.

As that plan took hold, Lauren turned her head toward his office, and their eyes caught and held.

Screw it
, he thought to himself. He let her see what was in his mind and smiled when she blushed.

Interesting.
Lauren was not a shy woman. In fact, other than his mother, she was the most self-assured woman he knew. The fact that he could draw a blush from her intrigued him in ways he didn’t want to contemplate.

The intercom dinged, startling him before Marguerite’s grating voice informed him that he had a phone call.

“Send it,” he said. The phone on his desk rang and he hit the speaker, opening up the line. “Sheriff King.”

“Sheriff, this is Detective Cane, Las Vegas PD. I have an urgent matter that I need to speak with you about, in person and as soon as possible.”

“In regard to…?” Jarod let the question hang in the air. He didn’t care much for his state’s largest city, or its brand of law enforcement, but every now and then they had to work together on cases. If they’d done a better job, maybe their drug problem wouldn’t have spread this far out into rural Nevada.

“We would prefer to do this in person. I’m already in town, staying at the Super 8. Will six this evening be all right?”

“I’ll still be here.” He hung up before anything else could be negotiated. Uncertainty clawed at him. Detective Cane must be new on the job, otherwise they just would have shared information over the phone.

He glanced back out at Lauren to see a frown marring her forehead. She’d overheard the conversation from her desk. He shook his head at her but smiled as he did so, putting her at ease.

At a quarter to six, the office had emptied out, except for Marguerite, who sometimes stayed later depending on how busy the office was. She was rushing around, tidying up, when Jarod noticed a group of people coming in; the leader was wearing an ill-fitting brown suit jacket, stereotypical of a crusty detective who was underpaid and overworked, along with a highway patrol officer and a woman whose appearance seemed to scream Child Protective Services, with her overly friendly smile, cartoonish voice, and eyes that took in everything. She was speaking softly but animatedly down toward her right hand, where she held the hand of a child whom Jarod couldn’t see below the counter.

Jarod’s neck hair prickled.

Why are they bringing a child here at this time of night?

Instinct propelled him out of his office to greet them before the detective could fully inform Marguerite whom they were and whom they were here to see.

“Right this way, please,” Jarod instructed, gesturing toward an interrogation room, out of Marguerite’s line of sight. She wore her plastic smile, but she was annoyed at him for not allowing her to discern the identities of his mysterious guests.

“That’ll be all for tonight, Marguerite. Make sure you lock the front doors when you leave,” he commanded.

She studied him for only a second before giving him a nod, then turned to continue closing down her computer.

Assured now that he wouldn’t be interrupted, he turned down the hall and opened a door to a small room that contained a table with four chairs. He again gestured for them to enter, but the woman stayed back and told the child—who, Jarod could now see, was a little girl—to sit on the bench outside the interrogation room and wait until the adults were finished speaking.

For the second time today, Jarod’s breath got stuck in his lungs when he caught the little girl’s gaze. He was staring into a pair of deep blue eyes that seemed as familiar to him as his own. His prickling neck hairs became a stinging chill down his spine.

The detective placed a hand on his shoulder, breaking the spell. “Sheriff,” he said quietly, “come on in and we’ll get this business taken care of quickly.”

Jarod didn’t miss the sympathy in the man’s voice.

“Uh…” was all he could manage. He met the man’s weathered eyes and followed him inside. The patrolman stood guard with the woman and child outside the room.

The detective sat down first. Jarod noticed the file in his hands. The last thing he wanted to do was sit down and look through a rap sheet, so he didn’t. In order to keep control of his boiling temper, Jarod began to pace the small room because, deep down in his gut, he knew exactly who that little girl was.

Detective Cane cleared his throat. He opened up his file and said, “I can see you’re shaken up, so I’ll make this brief. Miranda Becker King was killed in a car accident three days ago. She was with a man named Michael Trapp. She had no identification on her when she died. I’m sorry it’s taken us this long to contact you.”

“Miranda is dead?” He didn’t know how to feel about the news—not yet, anyway. He hadn’t seen her since she had walked out, and now she was dead. How was he supposed to process that?

His heart began to beat faster because he knew that this wasn’t the only news the good detective was about to impart.

“Yes, sir. We did some investigating, and the little girl sitting outside is Miranda’s daughter.” The detective cleared his throat again.

“Miranda’s daughter,” Jarod repeated. Inside his chest, he felt his heart beating…
k’thump-k’thump-k’thump.

Detective Cane flipped through the pages in the thick folder. Jarod could see the edges of mugshot photos and other legal documents. “Yes, Mrs. King listed your name as the father on Jessica’s birth certificate, Sheriff.”

Jessica.

Stunned, Jarod finally sat down. He was working very hard to keep a cool head, but damn, his world had just been rocked off its axis.

Detective Cane sat patiently. Jarod looked at him and pointed to the file folder. “May I?”

“Of course,” he said and passed the documents to Jarod.

Jarod flipped through the thick folder and found detailed arrest records. Miranda had been busted for selling meth several times; Jessica’s birth certificate did, indeed, list him as the father. He noted by her birth date that she was almost four and a half years old, but the little girl outside the door looked a lot younger.

Miranda was using while she was pregnant.

Jarod fought hard to keep the red haze of his anger from obscuring the rest of the documents. There were reports indicating that Child Protective Services had been called and that Jessica had been taken from her mother on several occasions. He counted at least three periods when Jessica had been placed with foster families while Miranda was in jail—the first time at only six months of age.

Just a baby.

The red haze blazed across his vision.

“Why wasn’t I informed when my…daughter,” he swallowed, choking on the word, “was collected by CPS?” He jabbed his finger at the reports.

“There was never any record of shared custody filed with the State of Nevada. We didn’t know you were her father until Miranda’s death. They’re calling it a glitch.” Here, the detective looked ashamed and looked down at the table, not meeting Jarod’s eyes. “We didn’t bring Jessica into our care until last night.”

“What do you mean?” Jarod’s voice was whisper calm.

“The wreck was reported three days ago on Highway 160, just outside of Pahrump. We believe Mr. Trapp lost control of his vehicle and rolled it off the embankment. An autopsy will show whether any drugs or alcohol were in their systems at the time of the accident. But by the time Mrs. King had been identified, CPS was sent to her last known address, where they found Jessica, in good health,” he assured Jarod. “She was immediately brought into the state’s care, and it was determined, at that time, that you are her next of kin.”

Jarod had a lot of questions to ask, but his poor befuddled mind was still grappling with the fact that he was a father and that his child was outside needing him badly. His experience of late, and the Decatur boy in particular, weighed on his heart like an anchor. Reclaiming his control was almost impossible, but he did it as he stood up.

“Thank you for coming to me directly, Detective. I appreciate all you’ve done. I’d like to take my little girl home now to meet her family, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” he said. Cane looked at the birth certificate that Jarod held in a death grip.

“I’d like to keep this, if possible?” Jarod motioned to the folder on the table. His voice only quavered a little. “I’d like to know what my daughter has gone through since her birth.”

“Certainly, Sheriff. Let’s get you introduced to your daughter.”

They walked out to the hallway, where the woman sat with a protective arm around the back of the bench, surrounding Jessica. They were looking at a picture book, and the woman was reading it softly to the little girl. They both looked up when the door opened, and Jarod stopped dead.

Jessica was small but beautiful, and very calm. She didn’t smile, but she wasn’t crying, either. Did she know her mother was dead? Did she care?

Detective Cane bent down in front of her and said, “Jessica, this is your father. His name is Jarod King, the same last name as yours. He’s a sheriff, and he wants to take you home, now.”